


Divine Daydreams of Midwinter Chaos (Sherloliarty Ficlets and Drabbles)

by ALC_Punk



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Multi, Pre-smut, Restraints, Sherloliarty, Sherlolliarty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-10-01 22:06:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17252237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ALC_Punk/pseuds/ALC_Punk
Summary: Sherlock/Molly/Moriarty ficlets and drabbles. Mostly an excuse for short porn and randomness.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This specific ficlet is for the Sherlock Rare Pair bingo card on tumblr, 2018. It's short and I kept trying to make it longer and then cutting those bits out as it felt a natural length/ending. The prompt was 'feast' and this ficlet is most likely called 
> 
> Supping or The Feast of Molly
> 
> Or something like that.

Molly is spread before them, wrists tied to the bed with scarves in a festive green and red (she'd insisted, of course, mocking them when they'd rolled their eyes over her love of the holidays and all things kitsch). She'd settled on her back with her legs stretched out. Not tied, yet, they weren't sure they wanted her completely immobile (though she'd had ideas about that, too, and mentioned the chocolate sauce and whipped cream they'd been lumbered with after the party Watson had insisted on). Her eyes were shining with lust and excitement before Sherlock had wrapped the scarf around her head, blocking her sight.

Even though she'd asked for the blindfold, she'd still tensed. Saying she trusted them, suggesting the idea, wasn't the same as it actually happening.

For just a moment, Sherlock had seen all the things that could go wrong for her in this situation flashing through her mind. He hadn't been certain how to calm her--if her mind wouldn't trust them with something so simple, perhaps it wasn't as good an idea as she'd thought it was.

How to reassure a woman that the two sociopaths she slept with wouldn't hurt her? Intentionally or not?

It was Jim who reached out to her, who trailed his fingers across her shoulder and bent to murmur how much they were appreciating the picture she presented. A flush stole across her skin, she'd always loved those sorts of compliments, even when a squeaky little mouse.

Her skin is pale curves and soft dapples of shadow, with the flush still slowly fading. She's not perfect, but none of them are, and Sherlock finds that there's perfection in the scars that mar their skin.

The sheets beneath her are the other concession to the holiday, they're a bright green with little white snow-flakes dotted here and there. Jim had drawn the line at _sparkly_ snowflakes, and Sherlock knew she'd only suggested it to get to one of them. It had certainly worked, of course.

Sherlock is certain that he should be objecting to such an ordinary (and cliche) locale for their activities. Silk and satin should be more the thing, but then again, this is Molly. She needs little ornamentation to be extraordinary to both men.

Glancing to the side, he exchanges a smirk with Moriarty.

"Gentlemen," Molly says suddenly, interrupting the heated look that could devolve into something which she would enjoy watching. If she were aware of the trend of their thoughts, she would be objecting. But then, there's always something Sherlock misses, so he concedes now that others might be allowed a little lee-way. "Getting a little bored here."

"Oh, darlin'," dropping flat on the bed, making them all bounce a little, Jim nuzzles his face into her side. "You just wait. You won't be bored long."

"You boys are all talk," Molly retorts, twisting a little to nudge her hip against him, obviously trying to brush up against the erection Jim is already sporting. It should be one of the things he twits the other man over, that just Molly, naked, can reduce him to that sort of incoherence.

But that would be a bit of calling the kettle purple, as he's been hard since she suggested the idea to the two of them as her holiday present.

Taking the other side of the bed, Sherlock raises an eyebrow at his competition before he lowers his own face and begins to brush his mouth along Molly's skin. She feels delectable and smells divine. Before the night is out, he knows he will taste her at the back of his throat and come in Jim's. Or possibly the other way round.

It's not the sort of thing Jim ever bothers to plan, and Molly prefers spontaneity.

He closes his mouth around one of her nipples and sucks. Hard. A whine escapes her. The sound goes directly to his cock, and he confesses to his mind palace that this is one holiday present he is not turning up his nose at.


	2. Vacation Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discussions of winter holidays, domestic fluff.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is what I get for mournfully staring at my bingo square. This one's for 'Hanukkah'

Molly had no idea how she, Jim, and Sherlock had started discussing the upcoming winter holidays. All she knew was that she'd made the mistake of mentioning that it was almost Hanukkah, and Jim had seen it as an opportunity for an orgy.

"Oh, c'mon," he was saying for the third (Molly had counted) time, "it's a great excuse for you to take time off."

Molly covered her face with her hands, and then glared at her sort-of-boyfriend. "A holiday I don't even celebrate is not an excuse for sex, Jim!"

"Why not, it would give us an entire weekend. It isn't as though--" her other sort-of-boyfriend paused and took in her posture, hands, facial expression, and unspoken frustration. He frowned, as he'd really not been paying attention to the conversation, just letting them be so much buzz in the background, but then sex had been mentioned clearly, so here he was. Then again, "--a bit not good?"

"Oh, it's all not-good," Jim waggled his eyebrows at the two of them. "Just you two, me, a menorah. What could go wrong?"

Resisting the urge to cover her eyes again, as that setup just begged for several things to go wrong—including a bored Jim Moriarty with ready access to fire burning her bloody apartment down! Molly shook her head and said, "No menorah, Jim. Regular candles are fine."

At least she wouldn't feel really embarrassed around her Jewish colleagues if he just used regular candles. The opportunity to burn something down was probably still not outside the realm of possibility, though.

"Wax-play is on the table, then?"

His voice was so hopeful, Molly didn't continue to protest that fire was a very bad idea.

Besides, she'd seen Sherlock's reaction to trails of wax all over his skin, and she wouldn't mind seeing it again. In addition, he;d gone a bit blank, obviously buffering at the idea. One side of her mouth ticked up as she let out a sigh. "I'll take the weekend _after_ off. I need to cover for two of the others during the holiday."

Jim beamed at her, and clapped his hands. "Perfect. I'll get to planning the festivities. Maybe whet ol' Sherl's appetite with something spicy beforehand. Make some mince pies, steal some mistletoe, and rent a Santa suit. Early, but what the hell."

"No murders. Or blackmail." 

"Aww. You take the fun out of getting you presents, Sherlock." Jim blew out a breath. "Fine. I'll only kidnap Watson or something."

Sherlock frowned, then shrugged. "Don't injure him, Mary would be most unhappy."

And as none of the three of them wanted to answer to Mrs. Watson (she had a very mean hand at whist and was a steadier shot than Jim's favorite assassin, after all), Jim agreed. Just a little snatch and grab for old times' sake--a great little bonus before the pre-Christmas sales took everyone's attention. 

Moving into the kitchen to grab for the take-out menu, Molly wondered how her life had turned into domestic bliss with both a consulting detective and the consulting criminal he chased. 

As she stepped back into the room, she discovered the two men were making out on her couch, a hot image that she wasn't averse to watching, and she realized she knew the answer to that. She was a dirty, naughty girl, and she loved every second of it. "Boys, we really should eat first," she informed them as she came back into the room. 

Jim pulled away from Sherlock with an obscene little smacking noise and shook his head. "Sorry, doll. Gotta run. Client to talk down."

He was on his feet and swooping in to kiss her himself, sharing a brief taste of himself _and_ Sherlock that made her head spin a little. 

"But he'll be back later," Sherlock told her as Jim skipped into her bedroom to take the fire escape exit. Sherlock himself stepped into her personal space and leaned down to brush his mouth against her cheek. 

For some reason, while Jim was likely to kiss her mouth all of the time, Sherlock preferred cheek or forehead kisses – not out a lack of desire, as she'd realized very quickly. Simply as a difference to their more impetuous lover. 

It was one more thing that made her love them both. She nodded, then held up the menu. "Curry?"


	3. Siberia for Christmas?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Further adventures of domestic bliss with Sherlock, Molly, and Jim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last one, I think. Sadly, did not make bingo. This covers both 'snowman' and 'tradition' (I have a half-finished Mary/John ficlet that was supposed to be for tradition, too).

"Siberia for Christmas. Sherlock, really?" Jim was staring at the man, a little surprised. Just the idea of it made him shudder from the cold that would burrow into their bones. It wasn't even the best of places to dump a body (though if they were close to the East Siberian Sea, hrm. Perhaps that idea had some sleigh bells on it, after all). 

"Molly wants to build snowmen for the holidays. Something about her father and memories. You know how she gets emotional," Pulling a face, Sherlock shook his head. "You know the forecast calls for rain and above-freezing temperatures. Siberia is better than fake snow."

"That's very sweet, dear." Molly was leaning in the doorway, looking at both of them, her eyebrows raised. She was wrapped in one of Sherlock's housecoats, which meant she was naked. 

A state both men were suddenly interested in. 

Her arms were crossed, though she wasn't glaring. "I thought you were kidnapping John Watson for Christmas, Jim?"

"Eh--" he waved a hand. "It's gotten old. I'm sure he expects the tradition now." It had, after all, been four years since he'd started doing so. And how Watson hadn't realized that Moriarty was doing it for his own kicks as a specific gift to himself (sort of Sherlock's gift to him, as the consulting detective could have requested he not), wasn't something any of them looked at too hard. 

After all, Mary was the one with the brains in that relationship. Most of them, anyway, and Molly had it from her mouth that as long as no one actually injured or killed her husband, and, he was returned in time for Rosie to get her Christmas morning cuddles, that she didn't object. Much. 

"Mhmm." Molly didn't sound convinced, but she let it pass, and turned to Sherlock. "My father and I made snow angels, not snowmen. It's sweet that you want to provide me with all of that snow, but the skate park's rink has more than enough cold and ice for me."

"No Siberia, then?" He almost sounded disappointed, Jim reflected. There were bodies he could have lost in the seas around Russia, though. Of course, transport would have been an issue. So he should probably just stick to the normal methods. Molly probably wouldn't mind an extra Doe or two on her slab over the next week--he'd just have to make sure she had the right documents for them. 

Sherlock raised his hands in his rather silly gesture and set his fingers against his lips. He looked a bit like a priest about to start the evening prayer. "I suppose we can assist Molly in connecting with childhood memories another way."

"That's nice. How about not." Moving into the sitting area, Molly reached up and touched his shoulder. "I shudder to think what else you'd come up with between the two of you."

Stepping up behind her, Jim leaned in and put his chin on her shoulder, looking up at Sherlock. "We could stop talking and go back to bed."

Dropping his pose, Sherlock reached down and began untying the belt around Molly's waist. "We could just stay here."

"Kinky."

Molly snorted and leaned her head back against Jim's shoulder. "I thought you were both leaving for a case?"

That gave Sherlock pause and he frowned. 

Not bothering to hold in his glee, Jim snickered. "He's already solved it over text." He kissed the side of Molly's neck, "It was just an excuse to seduce me to Siberia on your behalf."

Sherlock grunted and tugged the sides of the dressing gown open. "I think we should be seducing Molly over the couch. Or are you too busy being clever about my trying to meet her emotional needs, Jim?"

Pushing at Molly's hips so she was sandwiched between them, Jim chuckled. "Christmas in London it is. I should kidnap Mary for a change. Or Lestrade." 

"Both of them would be mildly more interesting."

"Oh for--" Molly wriggled free of the two of them and tied her belt up again. "If you two are going to be dull, I'm going to make tea for myself."

"Black, two sugars."

"I'll take mine white with three."

"For myself," she retorted smartly. "You'll have to brew your own. You are both adults, you can do that, can't you?"

Jim looked at Sherlock, then shrugged, "I suppose we could be adults about it."

"Boring." Sherlock was already on his phone, typing away. "John should be by in an hour. I've told him to bring me coffee."

"Ah, Watson and domestic bliss." Screwing up his face, Jim shook his head. "You really know how to kill the mood."

Molly looked back in from Sherlock's kitchen and raised her eyebrows. "Not joining me, then?"

"If Watson's coming over, I should probably go."

"You could hide in the bedroom," Molly suggested, her lips twitching and eyes dancing. 

"I'm not fifteen anymore, darlin'." Sauntering into the kitchen, he caught her in his arms and started waltzing her around the room. Dancing with Molly was always lovely, she fit perfectly in his arms and (usually) didn't try to lead the way Sherlock did. Always got on his nerves, that.

"I know." She leaned in and kissed his nose. "Go off and plot something nefarious for New Years' then."

"Yes, ma'am."

Jim left them to their tea and Watson and whatever else that might come. There were plans to be made--he'd been coasting with the John Watson thing every year. He should really go bigger. Something spectacular, something unexpected, something to set London on its ear. And maybe, this year, he could finally give in to the urge to annoy Mycroft Holmes. That was the sort of thing one planned with care, though. 

A test run, then. The Holmes' parents. He frowned as he thought of that, Sherlock probably wouldn't be very impressed. He didn't mind Watson, as the man could look after himself. But his parents were a different matter, as much as he hated to see them. 

Something else entirely? A bomb threat to parliament? No, he'd done that two years ago on Easter. His frown deepened. He'd bought the PM, so that was pointless. And there weren't any rumors of the Americans sending anyone interesting over. Russia actually was beginning to sound like a much better prospect, if it weren't for the cold. 

Well. He'd think of something unique and spectacular. Perhaps Bono wasn't busy this year.


End file.
